“You’re the first to complain, or I should say, “be concerned” about this,” says the director of public works his mouth set in seriousness, his full face framed in sandy brown hair and a beard.
We are speaking across the surface of his metal desk barren except for a computer monitor and keyboard, a can of pens and pencils, and a newspaper folded in two. A photo on the wall behind him shows a massive truck, it’s large metal blade and the entire cab coated in a thick frosting of ice. Through an interior window separating the fluorescent lighting of the office from the dimness of the city garage, I can just make out the hulking forms of snowplows sitting idle in the summer heat. On the wall behind my chair a window looks to the parking lot where the director’s pick-up truck, its engine still warm, sits, awaiting the end of our meeting.
This is the first time we have met, but we’ve exchanged several e-mails. He knows my story, knows about my alarm at the spraying of the city soccer fields with herbicides, knows about the health risks associated with the use of lawn chemicals, knows about my son’s birth defect and my husband’s cancer.
“So, tell me. What exactly are you concerned about?”
I begin slowly, but soon my words are off at a gallop and my thoughts race to keep pace. Finishing, I quickly return the conversation to him. “Those chemicals are harmful, and it just doesn’t seem necessary to use them on a children’s play field, but I want to know what you think?”
“Well we just want the parks to look nice. You know I use that stuff on my lawn.”
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The desire for a plush green lawn is deeply ingrained in our society. When American GIs returned from WWII many wartime chemicals were repurposed for civilian use. Herbicides developed to defoliate enemy territory were now used to fight a new enemy, weeds. As suburbia boomed and tract housing provided each homeowner with a postage stamp size yard, Americans dreamed of golf-course-quality carpets of green.
Then in 1968 Richard Duke made realizing this dream easier when he began his lawn company ChemLawn, hiring lawn “specialists” to drive around neighborhoods in clearly marked ChemLawn vans, fighting weeds and pests while residents were at work or school. By 1985 his company was making $300 million a year and by 1999 more than two-thirds of American homes were being treated with chemical fertilizers or pesticides (Jenkins, 175).
The desire for a weed-free lawn, however, has become more than just a luxury. It has become a moral obligation, a responsibility of good neighbors and upstanding community members. A 2003 study by Ohio State researchers illustrated the importance that Americans place on their lawns as researchers found that property values were “clearly associated with high-input green lawn maintenance and chemical use.” In the same study researchers found that “lawn chemical users typically associated moral character and social reliability with the condition of the lawn” and most disturbingly wealthy homeowners continued to use lawn chemicals even when they were conscious of their harmful effects (Jenkins 175). Their findings make it no mystery as to why Americans have so much anxiety about their lawns. Manicured lawns increase the value of a home, and homeowners are willing to go to great lengths to secure that coveted weed-free yard.
The American obsession with lawns is no accident. Chemical companies have worked hard to raise our anxiety and to downplay the risks involved in using their products. In 2003, TruGreen ChemLawn mailed flyers to parents offering financial support for children’s soccer programs in exchange for parents’ agreements to use their lawn service (Jenkins, 184-185). This new tactic of associating chemical lawn care with healthy children's activities was a more subtle approach than the company's earlier attempts at marketing their products as healthy and natural. In the early 1980s ChemLawn company was sued for claiming that a child “would have to swallow the amount of pesticide found in almost 10 cups of treated lawn clippings to equal the toxicity of one baby aspirin.” A few years later, the makers of Ortho paid a $50,000 fine for a television ad showing children playing on treated lawns while a voice said, “Sure, I care about this yard, but I care about my family using it, too” (Jenkins, 184-185). Commenting on this type of false advertising, a spokesman for the EPA said that any lawn company making such safety claims was “perpetrating a hoax” and that pesticides were toxic “by their very nature” (Jenkins 282).
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Sitting across from the director of public works, I’m struck again by a thought that has been rattling around in my brain for some time, “No one intends to endanger children by treating a lawn with chemicals.”
Feeling sorry for accusing this hardworking man of putting my son at risk, I choose my words carefully as I respond. “I used to use those chemicals on my lawn too, but given my life history, I just can’t do that anymore.” His eyes soften, and I ask, “What do I need to do next about this? Ultimately, who makes the decision about treating the city’s lawn?”
“I do. I tell you what. Let me look into this and talk to my staff at our meeting next Tuesday, and I’ll let you know.”
Satisfied, for now, with his response, I say goodbye and head into the July humidity.
Works Cited
Jenkins, McKay. (2011). What’s Gotten Into Us? Staying Healthy in a Toxic World. New York: Random House.
We are speaking across the surface of his metal desk barren except for a computer monitor and keyboard, a can of pens and pencils, and a newspaper folded in two. A photo on the wall behind him shows a massive truck, it’s large metal blade and the entire cab coated in a thick frosting of ice. Through an interior window separating the fluorescent lighting of the office from the dimness of the city garage, I can just make out the hulking forms of snowplows sitting idle in the summer heat. On the wall behind my chair a window looks to the parking lot where the director’s pick-up truck, its engine still warm, sits, awaiting the end of our meeting.
This is the first time we have met, but we’ve exchanged several e-mails. He knows my story, knows about my alarm at the spraying of the city soccer fields with herbicides, knows about the health risks associated with the use of lawn chemicals, knows about my son’s birth defect and my husband’s cancer.
“So, tell me. What exactly are you concerned about?”
I begin slowly, but soon my words are off at a gallop and my thoughts race to keep pace. Finishing, I quickly return the conversation to him. “Those chemicals are harmful, and it just doesn’t seem necessary to use them on a children’s play field, but I want to know what you think?”
“Well we just want the parks to look nice. You know I use that stuff on my lawn.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The desire for a plush green lawn is deeply ingrained in our society. When American GIs returned from WWII many wartime chemicals were repurposed for civilian use. Herbicides developed to defoliate enemy territory were now used to fight a new enemy, weeds. As suburbia boomed and tract housing provided each homeowner with a postage stamp size yard, Americans dreamed of golf-course-quality carpets of green.
Then in 1968 Richard Duke made realizing this dream easier when he began his lawn company ChemLawn, hiring lawn “specialists” to drive around neighborhoods in clearly marked ChemLawn vans, fighting weeds and pests while residents were at work or school. By 1985 his company was making $300 million a year and by 1999 more than two-thirds of American homes were being treated with chemical fertilizers or pesticides (Jenkins, 175).
The desire for a weed-free lawn, however, has become more than just a luxury. It has become a moral obligation, a responsibility of good neighbors and upstanding community members. A 2003 study by Ohio State researchers illustrated the importance that Americans place on their lawns as researchers found that property values were “clearly associated with high-input green lawn maintenance and chemical use.” In the same study researchers found that “lawn chemical users typically associated moral character and social reliability with the condition of the lawn” and most disturbingly wealthy homeowners continued to use lawn chemicals even when they were conscious of their harmful effects (Jenkins 175). Their findings make it no mystery as to why Americans have so much anxiety about their lawns. Manicured lawns increase the value of a home, and homeowners are willing to go to great lengths to secure that coveted weed-free yard.
The American obsession with lawns is no accident. Chemical companies have worked hard to raise our anxiety and to downplay the risks involved in using their products. In 2003, TruGreen ChemLawn mailed flyers to parents offering financial support for children’s soccer programs in exchange for parents’ agreements to use their lawn service (Jenkins, 184-185). This new tactic of associating chemical lawn care with healthy children's activities was a more subtle approach than the company's earlier attempts at marketing their products as healthy and natural. In the early 1980s ChemLawn company was sued for claiming that a child “would have to swallow the amount of pesticide found in almost 10 cups of treated lawn clippings to equal the toxicity of one baby aspirin.” A few years later, the makers of Ortho paid a $50,000 fine for a television ad showing children playing on treated lawns while a voice said, “Sure, I care about this yard, but I care about my family using it, too” (Jenkins, 184-185). Commenting on this type of false advertising, a spokesman for the EPA said that any lawn company making such safety claims was “perpetrating a hoax” and that pesticides were toxic “by their very nature” (Jenkins 282).
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sitting across from the director of public works, I’m struck again by a thought that has been rattling around in my brain for some time, “No one intends to endanger children by treating a lawn with chemicals.”
Feeling sorry for accusing this hardworking man of putting my son at risk, I choose my words carefully as I respond. “I used to use those chemicals on my lawn too, but given my life history, I just can’t do that anymore.” His eyes soften, and I ask, “What do I need to do next about this? Ultimately, who makes the decision about treating the city’s lawn?”
“I do. I tell you what. Let me look into this and talk to my staff at our meeting next Tuesday, and I’ll let you know.”
Satisfied, for now, with his response, I say goodbye and head into the July humidity.
Works Cited
Jenkins, McKay. (2011). What’s Gotten Into Us? Staying Healthy in a Toxic World. New York: Random House.
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